


Gum, Vengeance, and Classic Rock.

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam Out Of Hell, Gen, adam seeking revenge, demon, demon!adam, escaped adam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's nice to not give a shit about anything anymore except slicing up the two people you hate most in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gum, Vengeance, and Classic Rock.

Feet propped on the dash, windows open, tunes up loud, shades low on his eyes, Adam snaps his gum.

The classic rock station blares Rolling Stones, voices crackling through the crappy car speakers. He reflects, rather amusedly, on the appropriateness of the song as Mick Jagger wails “just call me Lucifer,” thinking of his brothers. They’re here, in this town, on this block, in that store just across the street. He knows they’re here. He made sure they would be.

Adam watches a mom across the street pulling her kid along behind her. Her cell phone pressed to her ear, she ignores her daughter’s pleas as she drops her doll and loses it in the bustle of light foot traffic. He snaps his gum again. He knows how the doll feels. He doesn’t know how the girl feels, nor does he particularly care- that’s not what he came here to talk to his brothers about.

Adam knows how the doll feels because he is, for all intents and purposes, the doll. If the doll had been used once, tossed away, picked up to be used again, tossed away, and completely forgotten, all thoughts of it tossed away too. That’s the doll Adam was. Was, not is- Adam’s done with the tossing away part. He’s done with the using part.   
The girl and her mother round the corner, parting ways with the toy forever. Adam considers picking it up. They aren’t moving very fast, he’s sure he could catch up with them, but he doesn’t want to lose his brothers.

The song changes, some old Zombies tune now.

Adam waits. He’s used to waiting. A thousand years in Hell turns you patient. It also, Adam discovered, turns your body into something resembling rotten meatloaf stew and your soul into a charred sooty smoky mess. He was terrified when he first discovered he was turning into the smoke monster from Lost. Now he’s overjoyed he did. Easier to fit through Cage bars that way.

He’s also overjoyed he managed to find a lost little angel in Hell (thank you, Crowley) to repair his body. Sure, any vessel would do now, but there’s a certain poetry about ripping your brothers’ hearts out through their throats while wearing the face they know.

Adam waits some more. He snaps his gum. The song cuts to an annoying car ad. He flips through the stations- some old 90’s shit, Rihanna, Taylor Swift, another ad, NPR. He ends up listening to some sort of Justin Timberlake song. It ends. He flips back to the classic rock station. Blue Öyster Cult, perfect. He hums along absentmindedly. The doll is in the gutter now, delivered by a kick from some asshole business exec. 

The demon hesitates a moment, then slips out of the piece-of-shit truck, cuts across the street in front of a car, grabs the doll. He jogs down the sidewalk. The girl hasn’t been gone that long. Maybe he could still-

He rounds the corner. The girl is crying quietly at her mother, who’s still on the phone; they’re waiting at the bus stop. Adam strides over. The woman looks up suspiciously, her daughter tearfully. Adam completely ignores her mom, leaning over to deliver the doll into the small hands stretching towards him haltingly.

“Try not to lose that again.” He grins, faintly, briefly, at her before turning and stalking back the way he came, popping his gum. The girl hiccups a thank you behind him. He waves a hand, not turning, still walking.

Back in the truck, the Animals have started playing. House of the Rising Sun, one of his favorites. Adam’s just settled back into his seat when the door to the convenience store across the street swings open, two large figures and one huge one stepping out into the sun.

The demon ducks beneath the door. He can hear his brothers’ voices rumbling across the street, growing louder as they cross, fading as they walk away, cutting out when the doors on the Impala slam. The individual words were impossible to hear across traffic, but Adam knows what they were saying. Store clerk, found dead, tortured, Devil’s Trap painted around him, salt scattered across the room. Adam knows the details. He’d arranged the details. They’d questioned the man’s coworker, found nothing. She was innocent. He had just needed to get their attention. Now he can finish his work. This hit and a lead to the motel room he had set up on the edge of town and his brothers and their angel would be at his door, trapped, tied and trussed-up. He reaches over, grabs the backpack from the seat next to him, slides from the seat, slams the door, snaps his gum one last time and spits it into the street. At the last second, he leans through the still-open window and cranks the volume as loud as it will go. He walks across the street, knives in place on his back. He’s ready.

Behind him, the Animals are still mournfully crooning.

“Oh mother, tell your children, not to do what I have done, spend their lives in sin and misery in the House of the Rising Sun.”

The bell on the door tinkles as Adam pushes the door open to the shop.

**Author's Note:**

> Damn I write a lot of Adam stuff. Guess I just got a lot of Adam feels. Also classic rock. That's good too.  
> Tried something a little different this time. Prose-esque, sort of.


End file.
